


Deanmon Daze [Now That We're Dead]

by HerEvilRoyalty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Boy Dean, Blood and Violence, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Charlie Ships It, Dean Has Powers, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Demon!Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, Mark of Cain, Sad Sam, Sam Ships It, Silly, Violence, author is taking a lot of liberties, dean has demon wings, dean is super powerful as a demon, deanmon, i'm just obsessed with demon dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-10-07 10:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10358778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerEvilRoyalty/pseuds/HerEvilRoyalty
Summary: What if Sam couldn't cure Dean...? What if really...he doesn't need to...





	1. You look worried, fellas...

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely loved Demon Dean...and would have loved to have seen more of the Dean/Crowley bromance roadtrip...so I'm writing it. Probably badly, but I'm having a giggle, so it's all good!
> 
> Upping the rating, as things are gonna get darker in later installments.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Sam couldn't cure Dean...?

'This isn't you. I know it's not, Dean!' Sam ground out, trying to hold back his tears.

'Oh? And how would **_you_** know what is and isn't me...?' Dean asked, sounding cocky and so very much like Sam's big brother.

'Because...I know you, man!'

'Uh huh...the thing that murdered my mother knows me...' Dean smirked as he saw Sam's reaction, he had staggered backwards, as though physically struck.

Sam's entire body shook, as he spun on his heel and tried not to stumble from the bunkers dungeon. He closed the door behind him quietly, not even bothering to close the stacks. He leant against the wall, desperately trying to gasp air into his lungs. His chest felt like it was being crushed, making it harder and harder to catch his breath.

'Ssssaaaaammmmyyyyy...you know, lil brother?' Dean crooned from beyond the door. 'I can hear your stuttery little heart and whining from in here!' Sam could hear, see, feel the smirk he knew was plastered to his brother's face.

'That's always been your problem, Sammy.' Dean started, conversationally, 'You're just too weak. It's not your fault, it's mine. I carried you, I wasted my entire life looking out for you, protecting you, killing myself for you.' Dean sighed dramatically, his tone affecting a mocking sympathy. 'You know, Sammy...you could still make this right. You did say you wouldn't want to save me...why don't, for once, you stand by what you say, huh little brother?'

Tears were streaming down Sam's face, 'Please hurry, Cas...' he whispered to himself.

'Cas is a walking corpse. You're just bringing him here to die too.' Dean called out, his words laced with accusation and malicious glee.

* * *

Dean was pissed. He could feel the purified blood trying to ruin his freedom. Freedom from Sam, the family business, Castiel, the endless battles, from himself. As he felt that freedom just beginning to slip, he also felt how powerless the cuffs were becoming...which is why his frown melted into one of Dean's patent shit eating grins. He had been holding off using his power, he continued to do so now, instead relying on his hunting background.

Dean, even before his new outlook, concealed metal (not iron now, _thank you very much_ , but metal all the same) pins just under the surface of his skin, near each of his wrists. He raised his left wrist to his mouth and bit through the skin there, withdrawing the pin and spitting it into his palm.

It took some manuervering, but he managed to spring one cuff, then made short work of the other. The rope bindings had frayed and slipped off sometime ago. He rubbed his wrists, still feeling his powers dulled...but there, still there. He bent over, releasing his legs and stood. The power of the devil's trap pushed against him, trying to push him down, weaken him. Dean smirked again. He wasn't just any old demon. He was a freakin' Knight of Hell, the bearer of the Mark of Cain. No squiggles on the floor were going to hold him.

He walked to the edge of the trap, pressing his hand against an invisible, to human eyes, force field, the magic of the devil's trap manifested, caging him in. He pushed against it, gently at first...then with more force. It hurt, oh Hell it hurt...but Dean didn't view pain the same way he once had. It was fleeting, it was there, and then it wasn't. So he pushed harder, while the trap tried to push back at him. It was just like Abaddon, trying to hold him in place...she hadn't managed it when he was still more or less human, the trap stood no chance of holding him now.

He moved away from the trap...obtaining a needle, carelessly left in the open _thank you Sam_ , and used the tip to scratch a small line into the engraved devil's trap. Just some insurance, for later down the line.

* * *

Sam quite literally could not believe his eyes when he reentered the dungeon, to see the chair empty. Crowley hadn't been able to slip the bindings, or release himself from the Devil's Trap...just what in Hell had his brother become?

He knew he wouldn't, couldn't, kill his brother, he just wasn't strong enough. Emotionally or physically, now. He'd been wrong before...about everything. Not trying to bring Dean back while he was stuck in Purgatory...the second Sam had been stuck there, Dean had killed one of his best friends, just to save Sam. Yes, Dean had went about things wrong with Gadreel...but he'd done it to save Sam. All he'd ever done, his entire life, was save Sam. Well...now it was Sam's turn to save Dean, whatever the cost.

But first, he needed to secure the place. Put it in lockdown. It would mean Castiel would be unable to enter the bunker...but it also meant Dean wouldn't be able to get out, either.

* * *

Dean laughed mirthlessly as the lights went down, maybe Sam wasn't as dumb as he looked afterall. Of course by trying to keep Dean in, Sam was also trapping himself...

Dean smashed the hammer against the wall closest to him, 'Sammy! Saaaaaam! Come on, I've got shit to do, people to slaughter. You know how it is.'

Dean can hear Sam, he can pinpoint exactly where Sam is. Truth be told, this is the most fun he's had in days. Playing cat and mouse with his little brother, he can smell, taste his brothers fear. He almost doesn't want it to end. Which is why he allows himself to be herded towards the maintenance corridor, even giving in and resetting the security lockdown.

He can't help but laugh when Sam locks him in the room, as if a mere wooden door could hold him. If he weren't so amused by Sam, he'd be insulted. He starts to smash through the door, using the hammer simply because he doesn't want to play his ace card just yet. He smirks as Sam turns and runs, Dean strolls along after him slowly.

He sighs, almost regretting having to end this so soon, as he goes to smash the hammer into his brothers head. The little shit moving at the last second, and bringing the demon blade to his throat.

'Go ahead, Sammy. Do it. DO IT!' He bellows. Scorn and disgust marr Dean's features as Sam drops the knife from his throat, _weak. Always was, always will be_.

Dean goes to pull the hammer from the wall, when he feels someone embrace him from behind. 'Ah, Cas. Decided to join the party, huh buddy? And look at you! All hopped up on angel juice too, good for you. Which one did your murder for the good stuff, this time?'

He grins as an excited shiver runs down his spine, as Castiel growls in his ear. _Finally. A challenge._

'It's over Dean. It's over!'

He feels the angel's grace licking at his Mark. He allows himself to be subdued, through sheer morbid curiosity. Bellowing in frustration, playing it up for his captive audience.

* * *

Sam feels hope, relief, gratitude and joy at having his brother back in the bunker's dungeon, thanks to the smaller man, well angel, beside him. He moves to retrieve the last syringe of purified blood, his hands shaking with anticipation and excitement. He was going to save his big brother...they were going to start again. Saving people, hunting things. Their family business.

He injected the final syringe of blood into his brother, wincing slightly. All of the months of waiting for this, finally over. He'd finally have his brother back.

He watches with his breath held as his brother's eyes switch from black, to their natural mossy green. He smiles for the first time in months.

* * *

Dean has to hold in his laughter, as he allows his demonic eyes to fade. 'You look worried fellas...'

'...You should be.'

Dean starts to glow, steam rising from his entire body, as he burns up the purified blood in his system. The cuffs and weakened devil's trap are still fighting to contain him, but Dean pushes through everything. He pulls every ounce of darkness from within himself, as he forces the cuffs to open. The ropes binding him to unravel, and the devil's trap trying to keep him, to completely fail. He stands up from the chair, unable to help the laughter, at the look on his brother's and best friends faces.

'Oh, I'm sorry fellas. This has truly been a delight. But I'm bored of you both now. Time to say goodnight, Sammy.'

Dean advances on his brother, bringing his hand up to psychically choke the younger Winchester. 'Hannah!' is all Dean hears, before Castiel and Sam disappear.

Dean growls, furious that his kill has been denied.

He quickly recovers, as he realises that his brother and angel have deserted the bunker...well, every demon needs a decent lair.

* * *

'Sam...I'm so sorry.' Castiel patted the youngest Winchester on the back. The young man had collapsed to the ground, as soon as Hannah had rescued them. Sam's head was in his hands, animalistic sounds being torn from his throat. The sobs wracking his body, made Castiel yearn to comfort Sam somehow. His own heart, his very misplaced grace, aching at the loss of Dean. He thought they'd reclaimed the hunter. But the demon had been playing them the entire time.

The power Dean had exhibited, terrified Castiel. And Castiel did not terrify easily. But seeing Dean burn through the blood in his body, while also overpowering the etched cuffs and the devil's trap...he genuinely did not know how they, or Dean, could come back from this. They couldn't restrain him, couldn't reason with him...they couldn't kill him. Despite how much the thought of Dean walking around with black eyes, doing unspeakable things, pained Castiel. He loved the eldest Winchester, and that ebb of human emotion was ultimately his biggest weakness. He knew Sam wouldn't be able to kill his brother, he wouldn't want Sam to. If it truly came to it...Castiel would have to cast his affection and devotion to Dean aside, because Dean, real Dean, would not want this.

Castiel could still remember holding Dean's tattered, but still glowing, soul in his grace. Cradling it, protecting the very essence of Dean. And now...that beautiful, bright soul, was a blackended husk. 


	2. Moving In [On My Territory]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a new bunker-mate.

'Hello Darling, miss me so soon?'

'Haha. Did you jump ship, again, and get rid of my blade?' Dean sneered into his cellphone.

'Tsk tsk. You know I only triple cross people I don't like, Dean. We had an agreement, I've told you, I stand by my deals. I have the blade, do you have the bunker?' Crowley queried, while idly signing death sentences.

'What, you doubted me?' Dean asked, cockily.

'Ah, wonderful. When do we move in?'

'You wish.'

'Always such a jerk, Dean.'

'Bitch!'

'You warded it against Feathers yet?'

'Yup. Done. It's also sealed up tight against humans, so only demons are coming and going from now on. Casa Dean is in business, baby!'

'I'll bring the blade later tonight, ciao darling.'

'Bring me some beer. And I'll maybe set you up in your own room, your Highness.'

'Ah, Squirrel. Knew you missed me.'

'Yea, yea. I just miss kicking your ass at fusball. Also, bring a fusball table! ...And a ping pong table...an-'

'Are we setting up a clubhouse, or a Hellhouse, Dean?'

'Just bring the stuff, Crowley. Later man.'

Dean hung up, with a smile on his face. 'Howling at the moon' with Crowley was the most fun Dean had had in...huh...maybe ever. Drink, banter, fun, fights, wild women (wilder sex), blood, no being nagged or told to 'put the blade down, Dean'. Sure, Crowley could be a dick, but Crowley had always kept their bargains. In a fashion. Which Dean, in his new state of being, understood well now. The deal, is the deal. Sure, you can cheat, manipulate, lie, steal, kill, but you don't break the bargain. You just find a loophole.

* * *

Sam had been unresponsive for 24 hours now. He just sat on the bed, in a motel room Castiel had gotten them to, staring at the opposite wall.

Castiel had sent Hannah back up to Heaven, more to give Sam ( _and yes, himself_ ) some space than anything. They needed to lick their wounds...and come up with a new plan of action.

He had just returned to the room, after collecting some food for Sam, a leafy salad and a bottle of spring water. He set the items down on the bed beside Sam, 'You need to eat.'

The young man didn't even blink.

That's how it went for the next day and a half, Sam motionless, Cas trying to research more on Knights of Hell and the Mark of Cain. He had to find a way to undo all of this.

It was on the morning of the 3rd day, when Castiel was startled by Sam suddenly speaking.

'My brother hates me.'

'Sam...'

'He hates me, Cas. He blames me...for...mom...' Sam's breathing hitched, and his voice broke on a sob.

Castiel was by his side in seconds, but struggled to know what to do. In the end, he patted Sam on the shoulder,

'That wasn't Dean, Sam. You can't take what it said to heart.'

'No Cas...I think that was Dean. Maybe for the first time in his life, that was the real Dean...'

* * *

Crowley sipped on a beer in a large glass with an umberella in it, for some reason Dean insisted on Crowley's drinks needing umberellas, and shook his head in amusement at the idiot before him. Dean was currently trying to build the fusball table he had explained he didn't want, but needed.

'Er...Squirrel...oh, Squirrel. You've got the instructions upside down. Again.'

'You know, you could help, dickwad.' came the snarky reply.

Crowley sighed, as he snapped his fingers, the fusball table appearing fully assembled.

'Are you shitting me, right now? Why the Hell did you let me screw around with it for an hour!?' Dean's eyes were black, and his lip was curling into a snarl.

'Now, now, Squirrel. You could have done that yourself, if only you'd listen when I try to teach you. You're a Knight of Hell, Dean-o. Start acting like it, hmm?' Crowley replied with his own snarl.

Dean's face broke into a smirk, 'Okay, senpai. Teach me.' He held his arms out, in a mock welcoming gesture.

'And what will I be getting out of this arrangement...?'

'I won't charge you rent...?'

'I don't eat or sleep, you can't exactly charge me rent anyway, Squirrel. And you forget, I reign over the entirety of Hell.'

'Fine. What do you want?'

'How about...you being my personal hitman-'

'I'm already-'

'Ah ah, with you actually following orders to the letter this time.'

'So...I get to kill, you teach me how to kill in new and interesting ways, and never have to use a screwdriver again...deal, your highness. Uh...Crowley...I'm not kissing you.'

* * *

'We need to get back to the bunker, Cas.' Sam argued, as he stabbed at his salad with a fork. He hadn't managed to eat any of it yet, the thought of eating made him feel sick to his stomach. But the angel had him glued to the chair, quite literally.

Castiel was exerting a small amount of power to keep the young Winchester in his seat, in the naive hopes of him doing as he was told, and eating some of the food he had provided. He had enough to worry about with Dean doing goodness knows what, without worrying about Sam collapsing or worse. Dean was his charge, first and foremost, but Sam and Dean were a package deal. It was his job to protect Sam, until Dean was back to his human self. Castiel could, would, do that for Dean.

'I will go check the bunker. It's likely he will have trashed it, and left. No. You're not coming with me, Sam.'

'Like Hell I'm not! You go, I go.'

'I'm an ang-'

'Yea, yea. Angel of the Lord, I haven't forgotten. You're still not going alone, Cas. You and me...we're all that's left...'

'For now we are, but I swear to you, Sam, we will get Dean back.'

Sam gave the angel a small, sad smile. Knowing full well the angel was lying. Dean wasn't coming back.

* * *

Crowley was sat in one of the new lazy-boy chairs he and Dean had obtained, Dean in the one beside him shouting at the large screen TV Crowley had affixed to the wall, after Dean couldn't manage to get his powers to cooperate.

'You know what we need, Squirrel?'

'Stripper pole.'

'No. Well...yes. Okay, that too. We need a kennel for the puppies.'

'What puppies? I didn't say anything about getting a dog, Crowley! Jeez. I let you crash here and you're already-'

'Hellhounds, Squirrel. Hellhounds.'

'Oh...I dunn-'

'You have control over them now. You'll be able to see them too...' Crowley smirked darkly, knowing full well the Winchester's dislike/fear of the hounds, but he needed to know if Dean really had chosen a side or not.

'Well...I have always wanted a pet...'

'Excellent. The more howling at the moon, the better. Speaking of...' Crowley pulled the first blade from thin air, a pocket dimension actually. Noticing Dean's eyes flash black, his entire body gravitating towards the knife. He idly held it out to Dean.

The smile gracing Dean's face upon touching the blade again was beautific.

'I keep my deals, Dean.'

'So do I. Your rooms down the hall from mine, Sammy's old room, actually.'

Crowley laughed, Dean staring at the blade entranced. The Mark on his arm glowing.

* * *

Castiel still wasn't exactly happy about Sam accompanying him to the bunker, but he knew how it felt to be made to feel useless...and just couldn't bear to do the same to his friend. They had parked a couple of miles away, and waited until after dark, before approaching the entrance to the bunker.

'I...don't understand...' Sam whispered, as his eyes grew larger in the moonlight.

Before them, where the entrance into the bunker should have stood, was a giant wall of concrete. It completely covered the entrance, sealing it off.

'Sam...the bunker has also been warded against angels, if I didn't know it was here, I'd never be able to find it. I can't even sense it...'

'He...why would he do this?'

Which is when they heard the howls.

'We need to leave, Sam. Right now.'

* * *

Crowley walked into Sam's room, _his room now_ he thought wickedly, looking around. 'Huh...not too bad, I suppose, Sam.'

He pulled out his phone, throwing himself on the bed, grabbing the book on the beside table and taking a selfie of him holding the book up and giving a thumbs up. He made sure you could tell where the photo had been taken, then text it to the contact listed as 'Moose.'

He followed up with a plain text, 'home sweet home, moose xoxo', and hit send again.

* * *

Sam felt his phone vibrate as he reentered the motel room, that he and Cas were currently staying in. He hit open on the text message, then promptly threw the phone across the room.

Castiel stopped the phone from colliding with the wall, summoning it to himself. He looked at what had upset Sam...

'Sonuvabitch.' He growled out. His cheeks reddening as he realised who he had learnt that one from.

Sam hiccoughed halfway between a laugh and a sob.

Castiel crushed the phone in his hand, barely exerting any grace at all, his anger was so all consuming.

'So...he's moved his new BFF into the bunker...and from the sounds of the howls, Hellhounds too. Cas...maybe-'

'Would your brother, the brother that raised you. Sacrificed himself time and again, sold his very soul for you, laughed with you, cried with you, shared his fries with you...would he want to be left like this, Samuel?'

'It's been awhile since you called me that...'

'Would he?'

'No.'

'Then we don't give up.'

'When did you become so...'

'Human?'

'No...I was going to say...Winchester. When did you become such a Winchester, Cas...?'


	3. My Territory...No More...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Dean continue the bromance, while Sam struggles.

'So...what now, Cas?' Sam asked the smaller man sitting opposite him. The cloying smell of blood, from the sigils gracing every surface, was making Sam feel claustrophobic. They had been holed up in the motel for the past 4 days straight, researching, scouring the internet, burning through books that were taking every ounce of Castiel's concentration to decode, basically tearing their hair out. And still nothing at all, to help them in understanding the Mark of Cain, nevermind removing it.

'We continue researching, Sam, we can't ju-'

'No, no. I don't mean...that. I'm not giving up, we're not giving up. On Dean, ever. That's not what family do, Cas. I mean...we can't stay here forever. You've heard the news reports, just like I have...'

'You want to...continue the family business. Hunting.'

'Yes! Exactly. We're not giving up on Dean, but...we're not getting anywhere, Cas. We need to keep fighting, and...we're going to need some help. And...damnit, we need the bunker. The information, the resources...'

'The bunker is not a possibility now, Sam...'

'No, I know...I mean...we could...I dunno. Setup somewhere else. We need a base.'

Castiel looked around the room they were in, his eyebrow raised.

'I mean somewhere that isn't a mouldy motel room.'

Castiel nodded, rising from the table, 'Keep researching, I'll be back.'

'Dude...did you just...know what, nevermind.'

* * *

  
'Honey, I'm home!' Crowley drawled, as he reappeared in the bunker's makeshift dining room, where Dean was currently lounging. 'Oi! Squirrel, feet off the table,' Crowley growled, knocking the Winchester's feet to the floor, 'What, were you raised in a barn?'

'Impala, actually, roomie.' Dean replied, not missing a beat, as his feet hit the floor.

'Who died and made you King of the bunker, anyway? Jeez.'

'King of Hell...King of the bunker...King of...'

'Lemme stop you right there, before you get carried away, Leonardo DiCaprio.'

'You know, if you put half as much time into your demon training, as you do into your snarky remarks, we'd actually be able to go do some proper howling at that moon...'

Dean sighed, _here we go again_. 'Ever think, maybe you're just a crappy teacher?' He asked the shorter man, crossing his arms petulantly.

'Ever think you're just a spoilt little shit? I'm the bloody King of Hell, mate! And I'm wasting my time her-!' Crowley's eyes glowed red, red smoke leaking from his entire being.

'Dude! That is AWESOME!' Dean had a look of glee on his face, 'Now that, that is worth learning!'

The hostile feelings in the bunker instantly disappated, as Crowley barked out a laugh, his power receding. It felt good unleashing some of his power, even if it was just a small amount. He couldn't deny, not to himself, that he enjoyed Dean's enthusiasm and consistently upbeat mood. Demonic Dean is without doubt the best thing to happen to Dean Winchester, since he was thought of, Demonic Dean was also the best thing to happen to Crowley...well, since the first time the idiot Winchester boys stumbled into his world.

'Don't pout, your highness.' Dean muttered, placatingly. 'Come on, I'll listen this time. Pinky swear, Yoda.'

* * *

Dean took a lot of photos. He recorded a lot of videos too. Crowley was currently scrolling through some of them, chuckling as he came across the photo of the 2 of them in cowboy hats. Oh, and there's the one with Dean in a sombrero, and a fake Mariachi moustache...ah, there's Crowley passed out on a pool table, with Dean drawing a monocle on his face.

'Now that...we just have to share with the Moose, Dean-o.'

'Huh? What?' Dean asked distractedly, he was currently playing a game of fusball against himself, using his infernal powers. And worst of all, he was losing. Against himself.

'I'm just going to sext the Moose, don't mind do you?' Crowley asked, a calculated look crossing his devious features.

'Send him the one from Omaha.' Dean chuckled, while frantically trying to score.

'What, the one with the clown?' Crowley scrolled until he came to the photo, showing himself and Dean posing over a dead carnival clown, Dean having engraved the giant smile into it's face with the first blade. Dean was smiling like a loon, with pink cotton candy sticking to his stubble, while Crowley made bunny ears behind Dean's head.

'Mmhmm.' Dean replied distractedly.

Crowley cackled as he typed, 'Sammykins! The bunker is just so much more fun without a giant Moose cluttering up the place! xoxo', then hit send. He swivelled round, once more focusing on Dean's losing battle. 'How are you letting yourself beat...yourself...?'

'Shut up, asshat.' Dean spun away from the fusball table, a look of frustration of his face. 'I'm boooooored! Let's go kill something.'

* * *

Sam tossed and turned in the uncomfortable bed, the rough bedsheets scratching at his skin. He'd tried researching for a few hours after Cas had left, he'd tried eating, pacing, working out, researching again...eventually he'd gotten into bed, in the vain hopes of passing out. That had been over an hour ago. 

Sam felt miserable. He missed his brother. He missed the noises of the bunker. He really hadn't been too enthused about the bunker at first, the idea of it being their home...but now...it just was home. Padding through the halls, seeing his brother's debris laying around the place. It was just like how the Impala made him feel. Safe. Something just inherently Winchester about it. He'd happily never set foot back in the bunker, or the Impala, if he could just have his brother back though. If he had to live in a dingy motel room forever more, he'd live with it, so long as his brother was grouching from the other bed. 

His new phone vibrated on the bedside table, he didn't want to check it. He already knew it would be another cruel text from Crowley. Taking delight in mocking him, at taking not only his brother, but also his home. Sam idly wondered how Crowley always found out his (and Dean's, for that matter) cellphone numbers, when they were constantly switching them out. _Bloody demons_. 

Curiosity was getting the better of him. He sighed as he knocked the lamp on, and dragged his hand down his face. He stopped midway to picking the phone up, as he saw headlights blaze through the flimsy motel curtains. He sprang out of bed, as Castiel burst through the door.

 

 

 


	4. [Do Bring Your] Powers to a Knife Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean practises with his powers, Crowley is as awesome as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short part, while I make the rest of what should have been a longer chapter, actually make some sense.

Crowley was stood in the bunker's library, he was leaning against one of the stacks. A book, that he wasn't really paying much attention to, in his right hand, a tumbler of scotch in his other. Dean had managed to drink all of the whiskey, which is why Crowley was stuck with a tumbler of scotch. Still with a bloody red umbrella in it. 

Dean was stood a few meters away from him, standing before the opposite stack. One of the reading tables pulled infront of him, a small armoury's worth of hunting knives, in all shapes and sizes, along with hatchets, machetes, and of course, the first blade, was laid out in front of him

Dean mentally willed 7 of the smaller knives to rise from the table, they shot into the air, no trembling (unlike the past 3 hours worth of practising) from the knives at all. They hung in the air, the only hint of discomfort from Dean, was a slight frown, which he could probably pass off as a look of deep concentration anyway. Crowley had been making him practise for upto 12 hours per day, you don't need to sleep, you might as well do something other than prematurely go blind, darling. In truth, Dean enjoyed it. The focus, there was something very, ironicly, pure about the training. Clearing his mind, narrowing his focus, willing his intent into inanimate objects. It reminded him of his time in Purgatory, in truth. There was just something about this form of training, that spoke to Dean on a deeper level, it felt...natural, to him. _Of course, Dean wasn't to know that that feeling, was merely the Mark's way of encouraging him to continue embracing and honing the powers coursing through his veins._

'And while you've been daydreaming, a swarm of monsters have eaten you, and me...that's a lie. I'd be back in Hell, sipping a pina colada, and probably torturing innocents...regardless, you'd still be dead. FOCUS DEAN!' Crowley growled, yelling at the last part, his features darkening in his annoyance. 

Dean rolled his eyes, as he willed the knives to shoot towards Crowley. stopping them only when they were touching the King of Hell's body. 'You know, you keep up your bitching, and I might just slip, buddy.' Dean snarked, making 'buddy' sound like a dirty word. 

He held the knives in place, pressed against Crowley's body, for an entire minute, as he'd been instructed. It was difficult to hold them, especially as he'd been the one to put force behind them in the first place. To suddenly move them, give them a trajectory, a target, then to force them to halt was no easy feat. It was as though the knives knew their purpose, _cut, stab, maim, kill_ , and Dean had to not only fight to control his powers, but to quiet the parts of him that wanted to let the knives do what they were designed for. It took a lot of concentration on Dean's part, but the more he practised, the easier this felt. It was like driving, fighting, breathing...it all just went into his muscle memory.

Crowley was silently impressed by Dean's ability to hold the knives in place, while also managing to threaten him, without breaking a sweat. He didn't tell Dean that, of course. 'So-so, Squirrel. Now pull them back.' Crowley ordered, not looking remotely perturbed at having 7 razor sharp knives being mentally held against him, by a hunter that had spent the majority of their acquaintance trying to kill him. 

Dean took a deep breath, then mentally pulled with all his might. The knives immediately shot back to him, replacing themselves on the table before him, in order of size. Smallest to largest. 

'Nice grouping,' Crowley drawled. 'However. You're still focusing far too hard, this needs to be second nature to you, Dean. In the heat of a fight, you can't just stop moving and focus on using your powers, you need to let your powers and your natural fighting abilities blend together.'

'...Are you trying to tell me to be one with the force?'


	5. Team Hell[Hounds] Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas runs into the demonic duo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some brief descriptions of violence, so please avoid this chapter if you're against a bit of blood and gore (nothing too graphic).
> 
> I am really enjoying writing this =D

Castiel was actually shaking, thrumming with pent up _stolen_ power, rage, fear, disappointment...there were so many swirling emotions, conflicting emotions, slowly trying to suffocate him. It was almost as all consuming as when he was fully human, the shock at all of the wants, needs, thoughts, desires, feelings...it had been breath taking. This...this was worse. So much worse. Because no green eyed Winchester was going to be at the end, slapping a cold beer into Castiel's hand, and telling him to take a load off. 

Sam pulled him to a chair, in their grotty little motel room full of bloody sigils, he man-handled the angel down into said chair. Sam was worried, Cas wasn't the easiest person in the world to talk to, even at the best of times...but right now, the dude seemed damned catatonic.

'Cas, man...come on. You gotta tell me what's happened...' Sam pleaded, briefly checking the angel over for injuries. 

Cas finally blinked, hearing the pleading in the young Winchester's voice pulling him back from within himself, 'I...I was looking for somewhere for you...for your...our base.' He motioned between himself and Sam, no doubt in Castiel's mind that he and Sam were in this together now, 'I thought I'd found the ideal space. But...when I went to investigate, De- your brother and Crowley were already there...'

Castiel saw the scene in his minds eye, he didn't think he'd ever be able to erase the image. 

_Dean standing in the middle of a large warehouse, with 30-something dead bodies around him, some of the bodies looked as though they had been trying to get away from Dean. They had been torn apart, not just killed cleanly, the way his hunter usually killed...there was a perverse pleasure that had been wrought from the severity of the kills. The brutality of it all astounded even Castiel, who had watched as humanity destroyed itself time and time again. But this...this was entirely something else._  
_He had rasied his eyes to look at Dean then, he was covered in blood, darkness swirling around him. His beautiful green eyes, hidden by the midnight black. It was the look of complete wrecked bliss on his face that truly terrified and destroyed Castiel though. He looked so...at peace._

_It was at that moment he heard Crowley chuckling. Dean breathed deeply, huffing out his own laugh. 'A new challenger enters!' he mockingly intoned, his midnight gaze landing on Castiel. He quirked his right eyebrow, 'Fancy a quickie, angel?' Castiel was momentarily stunned, by the flirtatious menace in Dean's voice, and the outright leer on his hunters face._

_'Dean...what have you done...?'_

_'Had fun. For once. Now, you fighting or running, pretty boy?' Dean cracked his neck, his grip on the first blade tender, he didn't even seem to notice that he was twirling it between his hands. He abruptly stopped, pointed the blade at Castiel and whispered, 'Run!' Before smiling and launching himself forwards with an unearthly speed and grace._

_Castiel let his angel blade drop from his sleeve, which was actually hidden in a pocket dimension but that wasn't of import, parrying the downward thrust of Dean's blade, the blow would have killed instantly. And that terrified Castiel, not the dying, but the knowledge that Dean wasn't holding back. He was going for a deathblow. Castiel continued to parry, refusing to strike back or harm the eldest Winchester._

_'Dean...please...' he spun, narrowly avoiding the blade, as it swiped through is dress shirt, the damned blade knicking the skin of his chest. Cas barely felt the pain, too focused on the man before him. 'This isn-'_

_Dean abruptly stopped attacking, a snarl tearing his beautiful features in two. 'This isn't you!' He mocked, 'if I hear that from you or Samuel once more, I'm going to cut out your tongues and feed them to the hounds!'_

_Dean whistled, and a large ball of shadow materialised, then dashed towards him. Castiel took an involuntary step backwards, his stolen grace allowing him to see the large shadowy Hellhound, it's eyes glowing the same shade of green as Dean's. The creature sat at Dean's feet, obediently waiting it's masters orders._

_Crowley pushed himself from the wall then, strolling over to the 2 men. 'Castiel. Meet...' Crowley gave out a long suffering sigh, 'Meet 'Tallica. Don't even ask about the name, it's bloody ridiculous, I know.'_

_Dean did a double take at his demonic friend, 'Says the douchebag that calls his Juliet!'_

_'Hey! Juliet is a classy lady, Squirrel!'_

_Castiel took the momentary banter (something he felt bitterly about, that Dean would share friendly banter with the abomination, also known as Crowley) as a distraction he couldn't pass up, so he quickly and silently fled the warehouse, diving into his car and speeding back to Sam. He swore he could hear Dean and Crowley howling in his mind, as he sped towards the motel._

* * *

'It was a massacre, Sam.'

Castiel had relayed the encounter in it's entirety. Sam's face blanching, when he told him about the hellhound, Dean's hellhound, apparently.

* * *

***earlier that night***

  
'Feeling less bored yet, Squirrel?' Crowley mockingly asked, as he stood back to back with Dean. A stolen angel blade in his hand, his eyes glowing red. Dean was clutching the first blade, his eyes were chips of onyx. 

The vampires, there were dozens upon dozens of them, were screeching and advancing through their fallen comrades decapitated bodies. 

Dean reared back his head, and howled. Crowley shook his head, as the vampires slowed their advance, as though self preservation was holding them back.

Dean smirked as he noticed the vampires edginess, he taunted the small cluster closest to him, slicing the first blade along his left forearm. The blood welled to the surface of the cut, the wound already sealing itself shut. He lifted the blade to his mouth, licking his blood from it, while maintaining eye contact with the largest of the vampires. The smell of the blood, tainted or not ( _blood is blood, afterall_ ), lured them in. They charged. The remaining vampires emboldened by their comrades bravery ( _or stupidity_?).

Dean mentally flung Crowley to the otherside of the nest, he was only going to get in the way. He ducked, avoiding the punches, kicks, claws and fangs trying to take a chunk out of him. The blade in his hand and the Mark on his arm were singing in harmony, shooting pleasure and blissful peace through his veins. He was hazy with bloodlust, but at the same time had never been sharper. It was as if everything and everyone else slowed down, they just couldn't touch him. He was everywhere, slashing, stabbing, kicking, punching, shredding through every vampire that came near him. 

'Little help!' He heard Crowley shouting. He didn't care about the king of hell, truth be told, Dean cared about nothing but his next kill and having fun these days. However, Crowley was the one person helping him to continue that fun, actively creating fun in-fact, which is why he found himself disappearing, then blinking back into existence behind the vampires fighting Crowley. He swung the blade, decapitating all 3 vampires at once. Before the heads had even hit the floor, his disappeared, and reappeared back in the centre of the room, once more drawing the remaining vampires to himself.

* * *

Crowley leant back against the wall, silently rejoicing in his small victory. Dean had unwittingly tapped into a smidgen of his true power, and all in the name of "saving" the king of hell himself! Like Crowley couldn't handle 3 lousy parasites. But Dean didn't need to know that.

He watched as Dean viciously killed the remaining vampires. His time in hell under Alistair really had taught the Winchester a great deal. His brutality and unrelenting rage was inspiring to behold. The squirrel moved with extreme speed and agility, it made Crowley glad Dean was finally team Hell. 

Before long, there was only 1 vampire still standing. _Just_. 

The last was a small girl, she couldn't have been more than 17. Crowley tensed against the wall, wondering if that infernal Winchester sentimentality would win this one. He was both shock and delighted at Dean's actions.

* * *

Dean had massacred the entire nest, save for this one. A mere child. He advanced on the young vampire, he smiled at her as he jammed the first blade into her stomach, angling the blade to snag on her intestines, then yanking the blade back. The girl didn't try to run or fight, she barely even flinched as she was gutted, she just stared into the fathomlessly black eyes before her. 'You'll burn in hell...' she rasped, as Dean grabbed her left hand, slapping her intestines into the small hand, with a wet sucking noise. He grinned at her then, 'Been there, dont that, sweetheart!' He swiped the blade back, then across her neck, not cutting the head off entirely. He pushed his blade into the back of his jeans, as he took hold of the girls head, then forcefully wrenched it from her body. Laughing maniacally the entire time...

* * *

_Thank...well, me, he's on our side..._ Crowley thought to himself...


	6. An Angel of the Lord and Sam 'Effin' Winchester Walk Into A Bar...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I'm having a bender!'

Sam had allowed Castiel to wallow after his last encounter with Dean. The angel was taking it badly, the fact that Dean had so completely given over to the darkside. But enough was enough. It had been almost 4 days, and the angel had spent the entire time either exceptionally drunk, unconscious or ranting. Full on ranting. Sam had no clue what about exactly, as the angel did all of his ranting in Enochian and other languages, that Sam didn't even think existed anymore. However, he had a pretty good idea that 'Gal-graf-auh-drux' had something to do with Dean, as that phrase (word? Sentence? Sam didn't understand Enochian all that well) was repeated. A lot. 

The angel was rumpled, even more rumpled than usual. His wild hair looking as though he'd been electrocuted, as he was constantly running his fingers through it. His tie was so far beyond lopsided, that Sam genuinely wondered if the article of clothing was making a break for it. Castiel's eyes were bloodshot, the usually bright, inquisitive blue, dulled and bleak looking. 

'We need more alcohol.' 

'Actually, I thi-' 

Sam didn't get to finish his sentence, before his angelic friend had slammed the door to the motel. Sam sighed, _this is your job, Dean_.

Sam grabbed his jacket, then followed the angel out of the door. Having to quicken his already long strides, as the smaller man was rather fast. Especially when he wanted a drink, it would seem. _Wonder where he learnt that, Dean?_

* * *

Cas led Sam into a bar, a dive really, that he had been frequenting for the last few days.

'Cas! Hey, whose your friend?' a young male bartender asked, as Castiel slumped into a stool, the bartender already lining up several shots for the angel.

'Who? Oh. That's Sam.' Castiel mumbled, grumpily. He took the first shot as it was poured, downing it quickly, reaching for the next.

Which is when Sam grabbed his arm. 

'I could break that, Samuel.'

'Yea...but you won't.' Sam nodded at the bartender, the young man seeming to get the message and retreating to the otherside of the bar. 

'I'm trying to have a bender, Sam!'

Sam guffawed, despite himself. 'You can't have a bender, Cas...you go on a bender...'

'Whatever! I'm havi- I'm going on one!'

'While I can't deny how hilarious it is to see and hear you loosen up...this needs to stop, Cas. We have work to do, man...'

'Work never stopped De-...your brother from alcohol.'

'Dean. Dean, Cas. You can say his name. And please do not let Dean be your role model, we both know he's barely a step down from full blown alcoholism...' Sam murmured, fondly, despite his anger and hurt.

'I miss D...Dean.'

'Me too, man. Me too.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't understand Enochian all that well, so if anyone has a more accurate form of Dean's name, please let me know =)


	7. The Bender is Officially Over!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is back on the wagon, and the boys (all 4) have a case! [About bloody time!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we begin the slightly OOC, semi-plot aspects! =D I really am loving writing this, I know it's not very good...but I have so many ideas, that just wanna escape my brain =/

'Let's go hunt something.'

'What?'

'You. Me. Hunt. What part didn't you understand, Squirrel?'

'We're demons. You're the King of bloody Hell. We can't...hunt!'

'Why?'

'What part of 'we're demons' didn't you catch, Crow?'

'We can hunt. We killed an entire nest of vampires just last week!'

'Huh...but...we're-'

'Yes. Yes, we've established that we are demons, thank you Dean. We can still hunt. Torture, maim, kill. It'll be fun.'

'Fine. Find us a hunt.'

'Me!?'

'Yes. You. Find us a hunt.' 

'But...wait. Is this Moose's usual job...?'

'Yu-p.'

'I am not Moose in this relationship, damnit!'

'You'd prefer to be Squirrel...?' Dean quirked his eyebrow suggestively.

'Oh, piss off, Winchester.'

* * *

Castiel, almighty and wrathful Angel of the Lord, the Angel and Keeper of Thursday, and all of Thursday's Children, wasn't looking too almighty or indeed wrathful. Said Angel of Thursday was currently passed out on Sam Winchester's cheap motel bed. 

Sam had stopped even bothering to glare at Cas, as he was just giving himself a headache. Instead, Sam was burying himself in research and checking the internet for any local cases. There was something that sounded a lot like a simple salt and burn, Sam jotted down some details. His research into removing the damned Mark of Cain from his brother, and getting said brother to be human once more, was starting to depress Sam. He could find nothing, nothing at all, that could be even remotely helpful. He just wanted his brother back...

But until he got his brother back, _and he would get him back if it was the last thing Sam Winchester did_ , he could do what he did best. The family business. There was a groan from the tan lump of Angel on the bed.

'Hiiiii Cas!' Sam sing-songed.

Castiel, almighty - _you get the picture_ , raised his head gingerly and glared at the man offending his ears. '...Sam Winchester, please refrain fr-'

'Good nap...?' Sam interrupted, a very Dean-like grin gracing his face.

'I do not nap-' Sam's fairly sure that if Cas was capable of more than glaring, he would be doing the bunny ear quotes right now '-I am an Ang-'

'Yea, yea. You're an Angel of the blah blah blah. So check it out, Cas, I found us a case!'

Castiel harrumphed as his head fell back onto the pillow.

'Great talk, Cas.' Sam snarked, as he moved to get the Angel some coffee. _The bender is officially over_.

* * *

 

'I have found a case!'   
  
Dean raised his right eyebrow at Crowley, expectantly. His eyes snapping black, when all he received was a blank stare from the smaller demon.

'Okay...wanna tell me what the case is, genius?'

'Simple haunting.'

'You know what, why don't you just pass me the laptop, and I'll get the details.' Dean grumbled, as he took another swig of his beer. _Bloody demons_.

'What details could you possibly need? It's a ghost! It's not exactly rocket science, Squirrel.'

'Yea, but Sa-' Dean coughed, covering his slight slip '...just write down the address, we head out in 20.'


	8. Pimpmobile Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam loves the Impala, maybe as much as Dean does. Sam does not like the pimpmobile!

Sam didn't like this car. It was slow. It was too big. Too conspicuous, _Oh yea, because the Impala is just the picture of_ _discretion_. Okay, so it's not really Cas' car that's the problem, the pimpmobile, as Sam secretly referred to it, was...well, it was a car. But...it wasn't _home_. It wasn't the Impala. It didn't smell like Dean, even during the times when Sam was the sole owner of the car, it had still had the lingering scent of Dean. _Leather, smokey whiskey, oil, freshly cut grass and peppermint_...all blended together, into what Sam liked to think of as eau de Dean. This car did not smell like Dean. It was all Castiel. 

Not that Sam was averse to Castiel's scent, the guy didn't smell bad or anything. Just...different. Rainstorms, ozone, rich chocolate and midnight - _midnight has a scent. It's cold, crisp, lonely. Loneliness has a smell, Sam Winchester knows the scent of loneliness very well, thank you very much._

Look, Sam was entitled to feel a bit down and angsty over missing his brother, his home and the Impala - who was a lot like a family member by this point, anyway. 

Sam didn't like how the car sounded either, it didn't purr the way the Impala did. The Continental didn't glide over the road. It struggled to hit speeds over 40, nevermind the 80 the Impala was used to cruising along at. And Cas! His driving was slowly driving Sam crazy! The guy was meticulous, didn't hum or sing off-key, he didn't occasionally turn to Sam just to flash him a grin or playfully punch his arm, and worst of all he was thoughtful to other road users... _okay, so maybe that's a good thing, but it just wasn't what Sam was used to!_ He missed the endless classic rock, his brother drumming along on the steering wheel, he missed how Dean sometimes didn't bother to indicate, _usually because Dean thought he was the King of the damn road and that everyone should be moving out his way anyway._

Sam sighed, resting his head against the cool window. He felt, more than saw, the glance that Castiel briefly threw him. 'You seem uncomfortable, Sam.'

_You have no freaking idea, Cas!_ 'M'fine.' 

Cas frowned, but once more focused on the road. Which was completely empty, but still, they crawled along it at 39MPH.

Sam coughed to get Cas' attention. 'You know, Cas...we could, you know...'

'Yes, Sam...?'

'We could go faster. I mean...come on, dude...the ghost is going to have salted and burnt itself, at this rate...'

'I apologise, Sam. But you are a small and fragile human. Regardless of your brothers current demonic affliction, he would be furious if I were to speed and risk harming you.'

Sam ignored the 'small and fragile human' remark, as Cas' heart _grace?_ was in the right place. It was kinda nice to be cared for, if Sam were honest. That was another thing, to add to the ever-increasing list, that he missed. Dean looked after him. All the time. And Sam...Sam had renounced him as his brother. _No wonder he's so damn happy with Crowley_. That trail of thought was depressing Sam even more, which is why he asked Cas if he fancied some tunes. 

'I don't understand what tha-'

'Music, dude. Let's just put the radio on...'

As it turns out, listening to music wasn't much of an improvement. Cas' car had no tapes or CDs. And the radio was having difficulty picking up any stations. 'I apologise, Sam. I know this car does not-'

'It's fine, Cas. Honest. Your car is...awesome. Really, Cas. We'll buy some tapes, CDs, maybe get you some stuff to make the car more...'

'Thank you, Sam.' 

The genuine smile Castiel threw Sam was enough to make Sam smile back, then slowly close his eyes, allowing the gentle motions of the car to lull him to sleep...

* * *

'Dude, 5 more minutes...' Sam grumled, as he felt his brother prodding his arm. He batted at the hand, as it refused to stop prodding him. 

'Dean, I will piss in your coffee, if you don-'

'Sam.'

'Uh...' Sam was instantly awake, his cheeks reddening. The car was parked outside of yet another rundown motel, 'Sorry man...' Sam muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

'I have acquired a room. You need to change into your..."FBI Threads"-' _complete the with the bunny ears!_ '-Then we will interview the proprietors of the haunted property.'

'Uh...cool. Thanks, Cas.' 

'You are welcome, Sam.'

Sam rolled his eyes as he exited the car, grabbing his duffel from the backseat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I even try to write...? xD D'=


	9. Just Doing My Job...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If 2 is company, then 4 is definitely a crowd...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're starting in with the f-bombs (actually, I think we've already had a few already), so if you're not cool with that...then I'm sorry. I just feel like my interpretation of Dean would drop f-bombs...often. But he'll clean up his act...well, once I actually get to the story aspects, and quit with all the bad dialogue and attempts at humour!

Ma'am, I'm agent Benatar, this is agent Staley, we're from the FBI, just here to ask-'

'Oh! More agents!' the older woman, living next door to the suspected haunted house, seemed delighted at the prospect of more gentleman callers, even if they were _fake_ FBI.

'More agents...?' Sam repeated, as Castiel tilted his head.

'Yes, 2 lovely gentlemen arrived not 10 minutes before you lovely - Oh! Where are my manners, do come in! Come in!' The elderly woman ushered both men into her home, guiding them to the sitting room...where Crowley was lent against the fireplace, and Dean lounged on the sofa with a cup of coffee in hand. 

'I'll get more coffee!' She crooned, as she bustled out of the living room.

'Moose.'

'Crowley.'

'Dean...'

'Fucking morons.' Dean muttered, putting his coffee cup back down. Refusing to join in on the name game. 

'What the hell are you 2 doing here?' Sam hissed at his brother.

Dean's eyes flashed black, as he smirked at Sam. 'My job, Sammy-boy!' 

* * *

Castiel was not happy. His hunter, his best friend, _his Dean_ , was smirking and bumping shoulders with that abomination, Crowley. While Castiel and Sam quietly stood at the back of the Continental, choosing which weapons would be best to use. 

'I do not see why we are still here, Sam.' 

'We've been over this, Cas! We can't...we can't trust them to do the job...' Sam gave out a world weary sigh. His eyes landing on his brother and Crowley.

The 2 demons were resting against the hood of the Impala, Dean randomly doubling over in laughter, at whatever Crowley was saying to him. 

'I know for a fact Crowley is not that funny.' Castiel sounded pissed, even to Sam's ears. Which is when Sam decided 2 could play this game. Dean wanted to be team demon? Fine. Sam could be team Angel. 

Sam put his arm around Cas, pulling him into himself, as though to confide some deep secret. 

Dean did glance up, his black eyes _haha, suck it jerk!_ narrowing.

'Sam...do you require...a hug...?' Castiel sounded uncomfortable, and was glancing over at Dean himself.

'They're bromancing, Cas! Crowley is bromancing with my brother and your...your Dean! So we're gonna bromance. You and me.'

'Uhm...'

'It's petty and childish and I know,okay. But I'm petty and maybe I feel like being childish. My brother's running around with black eyes, and mooning over the freaking King of Hell. So we are bromancing. Okay? Good.' Sam didn't wait for a reply, as he hugged Cas with 1 arm, then swiftly pushed a shotgun into the angels hands. 

Castiel just looked confused.

* * *

'You good, Squirrel?' Crowley queried, as the man beside him visibly bristled. _Damn the Winchester humanity gene_. 

'Don't be ridiculous. We don't do good, Crow.' 

'That's what I like to hear.'

Dean cracked his neck, as he moved to the trunk of the Impala. He popped it open, propping it open with a shotgun, then proceeded to pull a gas can from the mobile armoury. 

'I'm bored. We're torching the place and hitting a bar.' 

'Now, now, Squirrel. Just because Feathers and Moose are hugging it out. How about...we have some real fun? Hmm?' Crowley pulled the first blade from the pocket dimension, offering it to Dean.

Dean dropped the gas can immediately, his eyes glazing over as he instinctively reached for his blade. An electric shot of power surged up his arm, as his hand made contact with the jawbone handle. His eyes momentarily closing, the pleasure of holding that which completed him, overwhelming in it's intensity. 

'Let's gank us some ghosts.' 


	10. Scream If You're Dying, Sammy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's demonic now, no silly sentimentality remains. At all. Especially not when Cas could potentially be in danger. Nope. On the nopetrain to Nopesville.

'I really do not think you require the first blade, Dean. This is a simple "salt an-'

'I really don't think it's any of your damn business, Wings.' 

'Don't talk to him like that, Dean!'

'Oi! Moose! Mind your own bloody-'

'Oh for fuck sake. Will you all just shut the fuck up?' 

If any of the 4 men had been paying attention, they would have heard the hiss of electricity, and saw the cables slithering along the floor. 

Dean felt it _sensed it_ , before he indeed heard or saw anything, which is why he'd grabbed Cas' arm instinctively, as he'd muttered to Crowley to grab Sam, and teleported them outside of the property. 

Cas stumbled away from Dean, slightly disorientated from the demonic teleportation, which pulled at his stolen Grace...but also the fact that Dean had... _saved him?_ Dean hadn't seemed to think about it, he'd just grabbed hold of Cas, knowing Castiel was unable to fly himself or Sam out, and...saved him. _But..._

Sam and Crowley materialised a few feet away. Sam shrugging Crowley's hand from his arm.

Sam grudgingly looked at his brother, nodding his gratitude. Despite not looking happy about Dean's display of demonic power.

Dean, for his part, looked rather shocked at what he'd done. He stepped away from Cas, and rubbed the back of his head nervously. 

* * *

Sam and Cas were leaning against the hood of the Continental, trying to overhear the discussion Crowley and Dean were having, at the back of the Impala. 

Sam nudged Cas, whispering 'I have an idea, Cas. But we need to split Dean from Crowley though...'

Castiel, still feeling confused from earlier, merely nodded. 

* * *

'What the hell was that, Dean?' Crowley hissed, trying very hard to not kick the car the pair were standing beside.

Dean rubbed his hand over his face, 'I don't know, Crowley. Okay? I don't know.' The eldest Winchester sounded sort of defeated, which made Crowley worry. He'd thought handing the blade over would have dulled any of that bloody sentiment the demon before him was clinging onto, even if it was unconsciously. 

'We should leave, Feathers and Moose can handle-.'

'No!' Dean interrupted vehemently. 'I mean. No.' He cleared his throat, 'We have as much right to be here as...as Feather's and the Moose.'

Crowley smirked, not entirely sure if he should be happy that Dean was trying to distance himself from Castiel and Sam, by using Crowley's preferred nicknames for them...or worried that Dean felt he needed to do so at all.

* * *

The 4 men re-entered the house, Dean leading, Castiel following him closely. Then Crowley, trying to keep Sam as far from Dean as possible. 

Dean turned to the 3 other men, quirking his eyebrows at Castiel's annoyed grimace, and at Crowley and Sam, who were quietly bickering. They looked moments away from swatting at each other, like 13 year old girls. _Fucking morons._

'Okay, if you're finished flirting, ladies...? Cas, you head upstairs, from what the old lady said, the ghosts bones are very likely within the house. Check the usual places, you know the drill. Crowley, you head to the basement. Sammy...you take the back of the house, I'll take the front.' Dean nodded, slipping into the role of leader, despite the black eyes, very easily. 

'Squirrel, I-' 

'Basement, Crow. Now.' Dean hissed, pointing the first blade in the general direction of the kitchen. 

Castiel smirked at Crowley, as he headed towards the stairs. 

'And you can wipe that smile off your face, Wings!' Dean called, as he clapped Sam on the back reflexively. 'Scream if you're dying, Sammy!'


	11. Ride the Lightning, Sammy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huh, you really rode that lightning, didn'tcha?

Dean clapping him on the back had hurt, it had felt so much like old times. But seeing his brother again, seeing how...how _Dean_ he was, just gave Sam a new sense of hope. _He could still fix this_.

Sam made his way to the back of the house, glancing out of the window of the dining room. It was pitch black outside now. Sam noticed his breath frosting on the glass, he immediately turned around, raising the shotgun loaded with salt. He scanned the room, making sure to also keep an eye on the aged carpet for any cables.

He could vaguely hear Dean moving around from the front of the house, and there was creaking floorboards from above his head, presumably from Castiel. He couldn't hear anything from the basement, but if the ghost had managed to murder Crowley, Sam would have no issue with it anyway.

Sam moved quietly from the dining room, through to the kitchen. Being sure to check his corners, and trying very hard not to let his emotions over his brother cloud his judgement.

The basement door was open, he moved towards it, finally hearing cursing and mumbling from Crowley. 'Hey, King of Douchebags, shut the Hell up!' he shouted down, slamming the door and smiling petulantly. _I hate that guy...oh God, I'm turning into D-_

'Whoop-gargh! GARGH!' Sam suddenly found himself suspended in the air, his shotgun clattering to the floor below him. He saw his brother run into the room, from his upside-down vantage point, the blood rushing to his head, already starting to trigger a headache. That's when he felt the wires start to crawl and tangle under his jeans, upon making contact with his skin, his entire body seized up. He fought hard not to swallow or bite his tongue.

'Sammy!'

Dean's hand shot out - causing the wires and the ghost trying very hard to manifest, to withdraw. His brother fell to the floor, the cables having slithered away.

Dean crouched beside his brother, smacking his face a few times.

'De...?'

'Heya Sammy! You really rode that lightning, huh?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I could ever resist a nod to Metallica.


	12. Just Your Typical Winchester Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has wings...? Huh. Who knew. Castiel. That's who!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have my own little ideas on how/why demons teleport, and also how angels fly - which I'll be rambling about in later chapters. So yea, I'm cashing in on that 'taking liberties' disclaimer I posted way back in chapter 1 =p

Castiel felt a surge of panic from Dean, he hadn't felt anything from Dean emotionally in so long, that a smile initially broke over his face. Then his mind caught up with the emotions flooding through him, and he raced from the bedroom he had been investigating. He was fairly sure the bones were within the room, but his priority at that moment was getting to Dean. Castiel had never missed his wings more.

He charged down the stairs, using Dean's pull on his Grace to guide him towards the eldest Winchester. He paused as he entered the kitchen, as Dean was hunched over Sam's leg. 'Dean...'

'No need to worry, Cas. I haven't bludgeoned him to death. Well, yet.' Dean turned around, giving Castiel a predatory smile, and allowing his eyes to flash black. 

'That's not funny, Dean.'

'It's okay, Cas. He saved my life.'

Dean swung back round, glaring at his sibling. His eyes switching to black once more, 'No one kills you, Sammy...' Dean roughly tied off the bandage he'd been winding around Sam's leg, which had electricity burns around the ankle. 'But me.'

Sam's head snapped up, swiftly reminded that this wasn't completely his brother... _at least not yet._

* * *

Dean stood up, reflexively holding his hand out to Sam, to help him up. As Sam raised his hand, Dean stepped back, dropping his arm. _What the Hell is going on with me? Freedom. That's what I want, the only thing I want. Freedom and chaos. Not Sammy, **not Cas.** Get a grip, Winchester._

Dean scrubbed his hand down his face, he should have just torched the place. 

Dean pulled the first blade from his back, preparing to slash the air above Sam's head, as he was still sprawled out on the kitchen floor. Dean was still getting used to seeing, hearing, sensing things that he wouldn't have done, if he'd still just been human. 

'Dean!' Castiel shouted in a commanding tone, Dean could even sense some of Castiel's true voice in there.

'When I move to kill him, you'll know, Wings. The ghosts preparing to manifest. Get him-' Dean jerked his head towards Sam '-out of here.'

'Crowley, get your ass back up here!' Dean muttered into the air in a commanding tone, as Castiel helped Sam to stand up. 

'Dean, I believe the bones to be in the front bedroom, withi-'

Dean disappeared. 

Sam couldn't see the process of a demonic teleportation, well flight, but Castiel could. The air around Dean seemed to shimmer, the demonic wings that Dean seemed oblivious to, undulating with raw power. Demonic wings were vastly different from Angelic wings. Dean's wings were essentially just vast tendrils of darkness; black, grey, with green mixed in, sprouting from between his shoulder blades. They were constantly in motion around Dean, often reacting to his volatile demonic moods and whims. The tendrils of shadow had been swirling more violently, the colours shifting faster and edging more on black and dark green, since entering the house. Interestingly some of the tendrils seemed to reach out to Castiel, they seemed to want to embrace his Grace, while at the same time shying away from the brightness of it. 

When Dean did teleport, the tendrils wrapped themselves around Dean more fully, enveloping him, then seeming to split every atom of Dean apart, making him re-materialise elsewhere. 

Castiel held out his right arm to Sam, much as Dean had just done, and helped the younger man to his feet. 'What happened, Sam?'

'The...cables, got me. But Dean...Cas, Dean saved me. I don't care what he says...he's still my brother, he still...he sav-'

'We will discuss this later, Sam.'

'But Cas-'

'Later Sam.' Castiel gave Sam a meaningful look, as he glanced to the still closed basement door.   
  



	13. Stops On Red, Leaves On Amber...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Electric ;-)

Dean Winchester was pissed. At himself, at the 3 idiots downstairs, at the ghost that was currently trying to manifest behind him. But most of all, he was pissed at the humanity currently trying to swamp him. He wasn't supposed to feel like this, he wasn't supposed to feel, end of!

He violently pulled the first blade from his jacket, spinning and stabbing the knife to the hilt, into the apparition behind him. The ghostly figure was actually male, the figure crackled with electricity, the power shooting up the blade and into Dean's arm. Dean didn't even feel it. He just withdrew the blade, and stabbed again...and again, and again. The electricity continuing to shoot through the blade and into Dean, as though he were absorbing it. Okay, so maybe the first blade had trouble killing ghosts, fine. _Fucking figures_.

Dean bit back a frustrated sigh, as he sliced at the ghost once more - more in frustration than any actual desire to force it into dying, before pulling away and charging at the farthest wall, the only wall he hadn't checked for the bones yet. He punched and kicked his way through plaster, concrete and wood...and found the skeletal remains of the ghost. Complete with old electrical cables wrapped around it. An old part of Dean, a quieter part, wondered what had transpired here. Had this poor wretch been tortured? Murdered? Committed suicide? The more dominant part of Dean, just did not care. He squeezed lighter fluid on the bones, ignoring the ghost trying to attack him from behind, imaging a cocoon of darkness enveloping him and keeping the ghost at bay while Dean worked, he absently flicked a book of matches alight and flung them onto the bones. As he turned around to stare at the ghost, it sizzled and disappeared in a flash of electricity. Dean allowed the shield of undulating darkness to fall, feeling a wave of relief despite himself, at releasing the dark power sizzling through him.

Dean pulled his phone from his pocket, typing out a quick, if slightly shaky, message - _done. C u at bunker l8r_ \- and hit send to Crowley. He then teleported himself to within Baby, keyed the ignition and planned on getting the Hell away from Sam, Castiel, and the feelings of **_wrong_** that were trying to drown him, as fast as inhumanely possible. 

He absently rubbed at the electricity burns that were already starting to heal, all along his right arm...

* * *

Sam and Castiel were still in the kitchen, Castiel silently holding Sam up, who was slightly unsteady of his damaged ankle. Dean had told them to go, but Castiel was hesitant, he didn't like the idea of leaving the eldest Winchester, despite his apparent control over his new abilities. They were both straining to hear anything from the house, from either Dean or Crowley. They had heard what was apparently Dean moving around the bedroom, but that was abruptly stopped and replaced by something else...

...The sound of the Impala's engine was unmistakable, as was the sinking feeling in Castiel's borrowed stomach. 

* * *

'Squirrel!'

Dean swerved the car into the oncoming lane, he pulled the wheel back to the right, back into the correct lane. Once the car was once more moving steady, Dean turned to glare at the demon that had just materialised in his car. 

'The fuck is wrong with you, man!?' he growled, if his heart bothered to acknowledge when he was excited or scared, he's sure it would have been hammering right about now. 

'What?' Crowley had the audacity to look confused, but gave Dean a cheeky smirk, as Dean raised an eyebrow at him. 'Call that payback for stranding me, darling.'

'You can 'port anywhere on the planet, it's not exactly stranding you...'

'That's besides the point, Squirrel. What the Hell was that back there, anyway...?' 

Dean could tell that Crowley was trying very hard to adopt an air of nonchalance, but that Dean's.. _.his what? His...minor emotional slip_? His _whatfuckingever_ was irking the smaller demon.

'Nothing. M'Fine.' he mumbled, in lieu of actually acknowledging the terrifying prospect of what had actually happened. 

Crowley merely gave Dean's side profile a calculating look, before disappearing from the Impala altogether. 

'Good talk, yea, later _pal_.' Dean called out to the empty car in exasperation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to Chuck I am going somewhere with all of this! I've written about 40k words so far, and it's swiftly becoming a Bunker fic xD I'm just trying to make sure everything makes sense and is actually literate (ish)! I have no beta, so I have to read through a few times to spot my own mistakes, hence the stupid delays >.> anyway, I'm loving writing this, and yea...I'm sorry that it's a bit bumpy, hopefully I'll iron out some of the poorer areas!


	14. Recruitment Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Free Dean needs to expand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really unhappy with this installment, but I've tried to rewrite so many times, that I've kind of lost the will. Ya know? So it is what it is. Bad. FML. Anywho...
> 
> Yes, I had to include the Date My Avatar lyrics, because Felicia Day is my spirit animal. And The Guild makes me very happy. =D

'He was sort of Dean though, Cas! You saw him, you heard him! He **was** Dean! _Our Dean_!' 

'Sam...'

'Cas...we can bring him back. I know we can. You and me...'

'That's not going to be enough, Sam...it's-'

'Cas, you're a genius!'

'Uh...'

'...I'm gonna make a call...then we need to have a serious chat.'

'About what, Sam?'

'Purgatory.'

* * *

The red head had only been back a few days, it had actually been an accident, her returning to Kansas. Heh, no place like home. She'd been in contact with the Winchester's of course, but after not hearing from them in almost 3 months...

She had of course headed straight for the Bunker...but had found the entrance sealed over with concrete. She'd tried calling the numerous burner phones she knew the Winchester's used, the ones she could remember anyway. She'd left messages, but most had come back as unrecognised numbers/out of service. 

Which is why when she got a call from an anonymous number, she tried to temper down the little ball of hope that bubbled up inside of her.

'Hello...?'

'Charlie!'

'OhmyGodSam! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE BUNK-'

'Charlie! ...Wait...YOU'RE BACK!?'

'Yup,' Charlie paused momentarily forgetting about the bunker, as she noted the sheer relief in Sam's voice. 'Sam...what the actual frakk is going-'

'It's a LONG story! You need to get as far away from the bunker as possible. Where are y-'

'HOLD UP! What's wrong with the bunker!?'

'It's...what's inside the bunker...'

'Uh...'

'Where are you? We'll come and get you, in truth...we really need your help.'

* * *

_'You can type commands, I've got slots for what I hold in my hands. Don't care what's in your character bank, how 'bout, how 'bout a little tank and spank?'_

Sam's eyes were bugging out of his head at the off-key singing coming from the motel's bathroom. Despite the door being firmly closed, there was excess steam drifting in from under the closed door, along with the frankly odd lyrics the showering red head was insisting upon singing.

Castiel was leant against the far wall, glaring at Sam accusingly.

Sam merely shrugged, trying to silently convey _It's not me doing the dodgy singing, dude_!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking a few...liberties here. Making Dean super powered, ability to break the etched cuffs...but yea, it happened in my head. So there we go...
> 
> This is without a doubt going to escalate...I'm sorry.


End file.
